I Will Show You Fear in a Handful of Dust
by caithream
Summary: But after weeks upon weeks of watching... everything filtered through the dim glass, she ventured out into the world that was no longer her own, no longer anyone’s but theirs.


AN: Warning! Not only is this light on the plot and heavy on the porn, but it's also dub-con. If that's not your thing, turn back now!

* * *

She knows there's no real reason to step foot outside anymore.

Still, she does.

Summers of long past, days where all she did was doze in the freshly cut grass, stretched out like a cat while she inhaled the green. Cheeks and shoulders warm, sometimes hot enough that the trickle of sweat down her spine became more than mildly discomforting. It was hers, though; her own time that wasn't filled up with the demands of school or family or responsibility. She reveled in it, more in her own memory now than at that present time, but she supposes that is always the case when it comes to the better days of the past.

She hasn't seen the sun since she doesn't know when.

They let her roam freely around the estate, and she didn't, not at first, when her stubbornness and pride still had a tight hold around her and she figured she'd rather rot in her own appointed room than accept the so-called "gestures of kindness" they bestowed. But after weeks upon weeks of watching… _everything_ filtered through the dim glass, she ventured out into the world that was no longer her own, no longer anyone's but theirs.

The rolling thunder echoes through her bones, the sky a bruised green-gray. It's no different than most days. There's never any sun.

She still has no idea where she is geographically, but even so, the landscape so disconcertingly foreign she sometimes wonders if this is a whole new planet entirely. She never truly had been to a desert _before_ but she imagines it would have looked a whole lot like what's beyond her doorstep, except this is far more desolate, damaged. The stench of fire and smoky sulfur, acrid in her nostrils permeate everything. Shadows are darker, almost black, and the light itself is dull and weak.

Outside she finds a rock, clay-red and jagged. The boundary of the estate is there before her, not twenty feet away. She looks, but does not move. She couldn't leave, even if she wanted to. She needs _them_ more than she can make herself admit, needs them like the putrid air that passes in and out of her lungs. The thing that terrifies her the most is that she doesn't even know if she feels that way out of her own free will. It could be, but everything inside of her is so hard to discern nowadays.

Without taking her eyes off the low stone wall in front of her, she absently runs the part of the rock that's curved like a crescent moon up and down her arm, not really applying pressure, just feeling. Long, thin, white lines emerge across her already pale skin. Her own markings. Her own.

A wave of warmth passes through her as she remembers without meaning to. Callused hands running down her naked body, soft grunts above her, her mouth stretched open and eyes rolling. A smooth voice to the left of her, _that's it, darling, just take him, feel him moving inside you, so good, let him feel how tight you are_, one hand moving feather-light on her clit, making her buck and whine, then sliding back to where they join, the other hand pulling her nipple taut and then skimming a smooth nail over it, the voice urging them on, continuous and overwhelming.

Her cheeks redden a little as she throbs, and it's times like these that she's almost sure that want is her own.

The light goes from dim to dimmer, the only indication of day descending into night. She hasn't seen a living soul around since she woke up here, at the beginning. At the end. No one but _them_. It wouldn't be as creepy if she could hear or see any kind of animal, even a few mosquitoes to swat at every now and again, but bugs are mysteriously absent as well. She tries not to think too hard into it, like most things.

She walks back inside again, the air conditioning replacing the dry air in her lungs from outside, wandering from room to room like she does, sometimes. The faint aroma of coffee still lingers in the air and for a moment she's thrown back into her childhood, faded memories of a perfectly normal lazy morning with nothing better do to than the crossword. She runs her fingers over dark mahogany desks, skims lightly over faded book titles, dares not to even peek behind the closed door of the room they had told her never to enter. Sometimes, when she lets herself, she remembers what she used to do, what her life was like, before. It certainly didn't involve an unnecessarily large estate and being quite compelled to stay with two men who sometimes left and came back with their hands bloody and their eyes flashing yellow or black. And when she lays herself out bare for them both she loves it and hates it, loves more than anything the way they made her feel, but hates how they both know her body better than she does herself.

Her name she keeps to herself. They had asked, sometimes threatened, but it's _her_ secret, and hers alone, a little piece of herself that they can never get their hands on.

She turns the corner just outside the dining room and nearly jumps out of her skin.

They stand there, silent, just watching her with two sets of unnatural-colored eyes. It's not like she's never run into them before like this, but it's still highly unsettling all the same. Her heart thumps wildly in her chest.

"Hey, sweetheart," says the shorter of the two, Black Eyes, voice soft and full of promise. Her body gives an involuntary shudder at his words, the same warmth she felt outside suddenly coursing through her again, a familiar, wanted feeling blooming in her stomach. "How about you join us upstairs for a little bit, hm?"

Her tongue peeks out to wet dry lips, her eyes wide and darting between the two of them. She can't turn them down, she can't, not with her soft, steady pants or her aching _need_. Can she?

"I-I was just…"

"You were just what?" Yellow Eyes murmurs, head tilted fractionally, the look on his face almost patronizing. "I'm sure it wasn't anything too important. We need you upstairs."

They _need_ her. She closes her eyes, trying to steady her labored breathing and the tightness coiling within her but not really knowing why. It would feel so good, that release, she was sure of it.

When she opens her eyes again, yellow and black are gone, replaced with a startlingly human hazel and green.

She's not sure why it brings her over the edge, but it does.

She somehow stifles a whimper of want as she stumbles forward, shivers when she feels the warmth of their hands through the thin material on her back as they guide her up the creaking stairs and down the hall. It isn't that she doesn't know where she's going, she does, the amount of times she's walked this path now too innumerable to count, but her legs feel like they'll give way beneath her if they stop touching her.

Lips touch the curve between her neck and shoulder as they step over the threshold, making her even more pliant in their grasp, if it was possible. Little nips and soft sucks on her skin until there's a pull at her waist and her bare legs meet the cool air. She's lying on the bed, knees bent over the side, the one whose eyes glint green in the murky dusk standing above her with that little smirk on his face that she's come to be so familiar with. Any sort of rational thought seems to slipping out of her mind as if through a sieve, but she doesn't have the heart to care, not anymore, knowing what's coming.

Her limp arm is dragged behind her head and pulled up by fingers that send every nerve within her on fire. The other one sits behind her and makes a low, angry noise when he sees the faint white lines running up and down her inner arm.

"Don't think so," is all she hears before she feels tongue and teeth tracing every inch of her scratches (_markings_), replacing them with something deeper and not just physically permanent. This time, when she whimpers, it's not about pleasure.

But that, too, falls through the sieve as she looks up again to see the other completely naked and reaching for her panties that are already soaked through.

He's down in between her legs before she can even make a sound, nosing her curls a little and sending little puffs of air against her too-warm flesh that feels _unbearable._ But then his tongue is on her, dipping inside her, sucking and lapping her dry as best he can and the velvety slide feels so good it's all she can do to keep from sobbing. She tries to wriggle down the bed a little farther, wanting to tightly clutch his short hair, her hips thrusting up and legs opening wider because it's not _enough_, but hands grip her hips and hold them in place. It makes her moan in agony until she feels fingers spreading her open and his tongue sinking in even further, the sudden pressure on her clit making everything go supernova bright as she comes.

He gives a little hum beneath her, licking up her slick. "Good girl," he roughs out. She tries not to flinch away from his tongue as her throbbing turns into an ache.

Still, she's pliant in their fingers, not able to remember when the last time was when she felt this good, eyes half-lidded in pleasure. Probably the last time they did _this_, she figures.

They map out her body, like they always do, the one behind her pulling her shirt off the rest of the way and cupping his large hand under her breast, slipping his lips around her nipple. They use their hands, their mouths, their tongues, sliding over her gently, almost reverently, leaving her in a dazed fog of lust and bliss, swallowing her moans and whimpers with their lips.

Suddenly their ministrations stop, and she whines in question until she feels them shift around. Her head is no longer on the sheets, instead on the stomach of the one who was behind her, and there's a warm body enveloping her from behind.

Fingers run down the ridges of her spine and up towards her protruding collar bone, and suddenly out of no where she's reminded of her grandmother, leaning close with a grin smoothing out her wrinkles, pointing to her own knobby knees and telling her that's what made her such a good ballerina, those same kind of bones that she had passed on down to her gangly granddaughter. She had smiled hugely up at her as she twirled on her tiptoes.

Rough hands run down her sharp elbows and she thinks, _never again_.

She can feel the dick of the one behind her, pressed hot and heavy against her ass. A hand spreads her legs open and his cock drags along her flesh until he finds her opening and sinks in, his groan muffled in her hair. She tries to spread her legs out further for him, which obviously pleases him as he rambles into her neck _yeah, that's it, spread for me, c'mon sweetheart, take me in, gonna fuck you so good._ She rocks herself down on him harder, going deeper, wanting to cry with relief as she no longer clenches emptily, taking him fully in.

Something touches her lips and she tentatively licks out and then moans. It nudges her lips again and this time she wraps her mouth around the cock of the other, running her tongue everywhere she can. His palm nearly covers the crown of her head, holding her there as her cheeks hollow out, desperate to taste him, thick and heavy on her tongue. They move in a rhythm, her mouth sliding down the length of him while the one behind her fucks in to her slow and deep, matching the pull out when she flattens her tongue out on the tip of the other's dick.

She loses herself in it, like she always does, and they move together in a collection of shudders and gasps and moans, like they always do.

Her throat moves as she distantly feels him beginning to pulse in her mouth, but then her attention is starkly drawn to the finger moving on her clit in tandem with the slick slides and the pressure is just right, so good, too much sensation from everywhere, better than anything in the entire world, she doesn't care, doesn't want to care so she gives in, let's herself go, writhing and keening all the way.

She curls just a little between their sweat-soaked bodies, riding the waves with her eyes half-closed, waiting for all sensation to leave her once again like it always does.

--

No sun today.

Not that she's expecting to see it.

The air smells dense and oppressive. It changes a little bit each day, but for the better or for the worse, she has no idea. She watches a bit of wind pick up the dust just over the boundary, and it's the only noise she hears for miles, the sprinkling of it against a dead and rotting tree.

It might be her imagination, but as she stares out into nowhere, she thinks the world looks a half a shade darker.


End file.
